


Flynnovic Drabbles

by seblaiens



Series: Tumblr Drabbles [9]
Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-07-23 16:04:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 7,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7470030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seblaiens/pseuds/seblaiens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>warnings for rough, non consensual oral sex</p></blockquote>





	1. “Is that my shirt?”

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lazarebitching](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lazarebitching/gifts).



“Is that my shirt?”

Flynn looks up from his bowl of porridge. A look down at his body tells him that, yes indeed, he’s wearing one of Zoran’s shirts. He’d been wondering why it had felt too big when he had it put on before walking out of the tent to get himself some breakfast.

“Must have just grabbed the closest one when I woke up, sorry mate,” Harry answers and puts down his food. He’s been sharing the main tent with Zoran ever since they started their search in Borneo, and since Harry had a penchant for just throwing his clothes on the floor in the evening, he must have assumed that anything that lay between their beds was his.

He takes off his shirt and throws it in Zoran’s direction, accidentally hitting the man in the face with the fabric. If Flynn had any self-preservation instinct still in him, he would have probably run far, far away from the lunatic war criminal he just punted in the face with a shirt, but alas he just suppresses a chuckle and sits on his mattress to read over his notes on Marco Polo’s lost fleet.

He knows Zoran needs him too much to kill him in a fit of rage he seems to fall into every other day.


	2. “You’re alive?!”

Harry knows that if he had been a few seconds slower, he’d have died in front of the tree of life. What a funny concept. He barely makes it out in time, clinging onto his life as bloods seeps out of his body continuously, and he knows that even if he makes it back, if nobody helps him, he’ll bleed or freeze to death in fucking rural Nepal.

It’s to his surprise that the first thing he hears when he crawls up the steps back to the monastery is not gunfire or those guarding things yelling as they charge to attack him, but Zoran Lazarevic’s voice.

“You’re alive?” The man asks, genuine concern in his voice.

Harry can barely respond, instead just spits blood into the snow, the red in a stark contrast to the almost blinding white of the ground. His vision is slowly fading away, and the last thing he sees before losing consciousness is Zoran walking towards him and kneeling in front of him.

When he wakes up, he’s sweating. He can’t move, a blanket is wrapped so tightly around him, and he can hear a fire cracking which fills the room with heat. He opens his eyes and is blinded by the dim light of a candle. He must have been out quite a while to be that sensitive to light.

Harry unwraps himself from the cocoon of blankets, his body aching all over. He examines his body, wrapped almost completely in bandages, the parts that aren’t covered up black and blue with some crusty wounds here and there. He’s just about to get up, when the door into the room opens.

“You’re awake. Good,” Lazarevic says, staring at Harry for a second before pulling up a chair next to his bed side. He wordlessly presses a bowl of soup in Harry’s hands, watching him as Harry eats as fast as he can, only noticing now how hungry he is.

Exhausting sets over him when he’s done, and all he can do is give the bowl back to Zoran before he has to lie down again, so weak he can’t even pull the blanket back over himself. His eyes droop closed as he watches Zoran sigh and stand up from his seat, carefully placing the soft fabric over Flynn’s beat body before placing his hand on Harry’s forehead, trying to judge if his fever had gotten any better. He ends up stroking through Harry’s hair as the man falls asleep when he’s assured that his temperature had gone down.

He’s alive. He’ll make it.


	3. “You knocked on my door at 1 in the morning, to cuddle?”

There’s no fucking heating in all of Nepal, Harry decides. He’s wearing sweats, a pullover, and socks, but he’s still freezing his ass off in his room in the monastery. Lazarevic had taken the only space heater that hadn’t broken yet and put it into the room of his soldiers, but Harry had declined the offer one of them had made him to sleep in the room with them. He was Zoran’s right hand man, he couldn’t sleep cuddled up with them, sharing stories before going to sleep.

He thinks about waking up Chloe and crawling into her sleeping bag, but he knows he’d sooner end up with a broken nose than warm feet.

Which only leaves fucking Zoran Lazarevic to complain to.

Sighing, Harry stands up and packs his things together, tip-toeing out of the room and walking over to Zoran’s. He knocks a few times, looks at his watch. One in the morning, there’s no way he’s asleep yet. He knocks again, yells out Zoran’s name when the other man doesn’t open the door.

“What?” Zoran asks harshly when he rips open the door.

“I’m cold.”

“You’re the only one complaining.”

Harry pushes his hands against the door just in time before Zoran slams it in his face.

“I’m just here for a little cuddle and body heat,” Harry internally cringes at himself. “You’ve got enough to share.”

“You knocked on my door at 1 in the morning, to cuddle?”

“Come on, mate, I’m of no help if I die of hypothermia.”

“You’re of no help alive either,” Zoran sighs but let’s Harry into his room. Dim lighting from an oil lamp is the only light source in the room, and Harry almost trips over Zoran’s winter coat on his way to the mattress made up of blankets and pillows.

“Be. Careful.”  

They lie down, and it’s incredibly awkward. It’s not particularly warmer, since they’re on opposite sides of the mattress, until Harry shoots caution into the wind and turns on his side, pressing his freezing nose against Zoran’s nose.

“Nemoj me jebati! Your nose is freezing!”

“Told you I was cold,” Harry grumbles, putting his cold hands onto Zoran’s bicep as well. The other man grumbles some swear words Harry doesn’t understand, but at least he’s getting warm, finally.

Now, if he can just get his feet onto Zoran’s body as well…

“I’ll kill you Flynn!”

Well, maybe tomorrow night.


	4. "Go on, I dare you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for rough, non consensual oral sex

Harry fidgets the whole time he walks over to where Lazarevic had set up camp in one of the rooms of the old monastery. ‘Smoothing things over’ with him, as he had put it for Chloe, usually included fearing for his life while Lazarevic screamed at him about how incompetent he is, threating his life once or twice during his screaming fit.

The door to Lazarevic’s room is open, and Harry quietly slips inside, his eyes fixated on Lazarevic’s back as the other man looks over the many notes he had spread out over a desk. Looking for answer, Harry thinks. He’s much smarter than he looks.

“Zoran,” Harry begins, but Zoran holds up his hand, motioning for Harry to stop speaking. But Harry is nothing but persistent. “Look, you have to give me more time-“

“Not one word more,” Lazarevic growls, finally looks at Flynn, who crosses his arms and opens his mouth to speak just as Zoran continues, “Go on, I dare you.”

Harry stops himself for a moment, before deciding he will not be bossed around by Lazarevic anymore. He’s been a great employee, getting the sodding map out of the most guarded Museum in Turkey, and finding the ships in Borneo, he’s earned his right to say his mind.

“What? Else you’re going to shoot-“

Zoran takes three quick leaps towards him and grabs his hair, yanking on him so hard Harry loses his footing and roughly lands on his knees. He can feel his jeans rip and his knees chafe when Zoran pulls him over the ground, and Harry is scared he’ll accidentally end up scalped. Zoran finally let’s go of him with a push that makes Harry fall onto his side, grabbing his head to check if Lazarevic had pulled out his hair.

“You are not a smart man,” Zoran says, squatting down in front of Harry. He looks bloody terrifying, looking up at him instead of down, like Harry usually does. It makes Harry unable to move a muscle, and he keeps staring, cold sweat dripping down his back. “You should be happy I decided to keep you around.”

“I might not be smart, but at least I’m pretty,” Harry retorts, swallowing hard when Zoran laughs at him. Harry slowly sits up when he thinks he might be out of danger, but Zoran quickly stands up and grabs him by his hair again, yanking him to his knees. Harry winces in pain but refuses to make a sound.

When he opens his eyes, he is greeted by Zoran’s crotch right in front of him, and he turns his head so he isn’t staring at it. Lazarevic notices, to his demise.

“What, Flynn, are you a prude?”

Harry decides not to answer, which only seems to enrage Lazarevic more. He yanks Harry’s face to his body, pressing his crotch against his mouth. Blood rushes into Harry’s face out of embarrassment, and he sighs out of relieve when Lazarevic pushes him again and steps away.

His heartbeat quickens to double its pace when he feels Zoran grab his arms and then his wrists, tying something around them so that Harry can’t move them from behind his back. He steps around to Harry’s front again, and he swallows hard when Lazarevic opens the buttons and zipper on his pants. He watches as Zoran pushes his clothes down far enough to grab his cock, stroke himself a few times before grabbing Harry’s face and bringing it to his crotch.

“Give me one reason not to kill you right now, pretty boy.”

Harry opens his mouth when Zoran presses his cock against his lips, taking him in his mouth, gagging when he pushes in too fast and too far, the head of Zoran’s cock pressing unrelentingly into Harry’s throat. He can’t breathe, and he can feel the urge to vomit getting stronger and stronger until Zoran pulls away again, letting Harry catch his breath for a few seconds before he starts thrusting in and out of Harry’s mouth.

There’s saliva dripping from Harry’s chin and landing on his shirt; he can feel the sticky wetness on his chest when his body moves. He tries to keep his eyes closed and concentrates on thinking about other things, who knows, maybe Zoran will mellow out after getting this out of his system and getting off once in a while. Harry would have laughed out loud, if his mouth hadn’t been preoccupied.

“You have done nothing for me,” Zoran grunts, the grip in Harry’s hair becoming tighter, “you’ve been one step behind Drake since we’ve found the boats.”

 _You haven’t been a big help, either,_ Harry thinks and furrows his brows. He thinks about letting his teeth graze Zoran’s dick, but the last shred of self-preservation in him yells at him that that wouldn’t be the best idea in his situation. So he just _takes_ it, struggling and gagging each time Lazarevic thrusts too deep and hits his throat. He can feel his wrists getting sore from being tied up by some kind of rough material (he thinks it might be rope, but he’s not sure), and his knees hurt. He’s positive they’re bleeding.

“You should be glad I found one thing you’re good at,” Zoran grunts as he pulls his cock out of Harry’s mouth and strokes himself, come hitting Harry’s face just a few seconds later. He closes his eyes and presses his lips together as it drips down his face, over his brow, down his nose and onto his cheek.

His hands are released a few seconds later, and Harry falls forward on the ground with a rough shove. The door slams as Lazarevic leaves the room, and for the first time in his life, Harry doesn’t have anything smart to say.


	5. "Kiss Me."

They're just outside of Belgrade, near some military outpost, Harry thinks. Some of Lazarevic's men had picked him up from the Belgrade airport and driven him here, pointed him into the direction of Zoran's apartment, where he is to bring the paper he lifted out of the Turkish prison. Zoran had been pleased when Harry had shown him and translated the writing, explained the Tsunami and his narrowed in search area on the west coast of Borneo. He could swear he even saw Lazarevic smile for a second when he traced the red lines Harry had drawn on a map of Borneo, outlining the area.

  
He was even more surprised when Zoran disappeared momentarily and came back with two beers, pushed one of them into Harry's hand before cheering him and taking a swig. Harry mentally shrugged his shoulders and was grateful for just one luxury in the drabness that was Serbian country side.

  
One beer leads to six, until Harry is lying on the sofa in Zoran's apartment, pleasantly buzzed and laughing at a story Zoran tells about his time in the military. His English is shit sometimes, and he has to take out his phone to translate a few words, but Harry doesn't mind a conversation where he feels like the smarter one once in a while.

  
"Did you ever drop the soap in the showers, Zoran?" Harry asks, knowing fully well that the other man won't understand what he's insinuating.

  
"Drop the soap?" Zoran asks and scratches his head. Harry giggles as he empties his bottle. He could probably get used to Serbian beer, it's not half bad.

  
"It means..." Harry starts, not knowing if he should continue. Zoran might either laugh at him or threaten to kill him for suggesting such a thing, both options equally likely. "It means have you had sex with a man while in the military."

  
Zoran looks confused for a moment before he starts laughing, the sound so loud it almost hurts Harry's eats.

  
"Ah. Otpustanje sapuna. Oh, you're clever," he says, still grinning, "but I was not the one dropping the soap."

  
Harry raises his eyebrows. That definitely did not sound like a no.

  
"And you, Flynn? Are you a fan of dropping the soap?"

  
"I've dabbled," Harry answers and begins pulling at the label of his empty beer bottle. He's turned on - the last time he had sex was almost a week ago, before he made Chloe mad at him by leaving Nathan behind in the museum. He hasn't had any alone time since then, either. "It's been a while, though."

  
"University experiments, in your case?"

  
"You could call it that," Harry shrugs and places the beer bottle on the coffee table in front of the couch. "I wasn't even in university yet though, so I guess it was just 'experiments.'"

  
Harry gets up to go to the fridge and get himself another beer when Zoran grabs him and pulls him down, into the armchair he's sitting in. He lands uncomfortably, with one of his legs hitting the coffee table behind him with a dull thump, the other one landing between Zoran's legs. Arms wrap around his waist and pull him closer towards Zoran's torso, and he gets comfortable on Zoran's lap when he realizes that it wasn't just an accident that he landed here.

  
"Kiss me," Harry whispers, placing his hands on Zoran's shoulders.

  
Their lips crash together hungrily, teeth knocking against each other and Harry's bottom lip getting caught in-between Zoran's canines, a sharp pain and the taste of blood following soon after the initial bite. Zoran shoves his tongue into Harry's mouth while his hands land on Harry's ass, pulling down his pants and underwear far enough that he can grab Harry's naked cheeks. A groan escapes Harry's mouth when he feels one of Zoran's dry fingers stroke over his hole, and he squirms when Zoran tries to push it in.

  
"Christ, be gentle, alright," Harry complains and pulls back when Zoran won't stop trying. "It's literally been years since I've done something like that."

  
"You'll get over it," Zoran grumbles before pushing Harry away from himself and getting up. "Come on," he orders when Harry just watches him walk to his bedroom, dumbstruck.

  
"Ah, what the hell," Harry decides after a few seconds of pondering, and follows Lazarevic to his bed.

Might as well get the sexual frustration out before going to Borneo. Sodomy was probably still illegal there.


	6. "I don’t want you to think of me as your personal sex toy."

Their relationship is strictly physical. That’s what Harry tells himself every morning he wakes up next to Zoran. It had gone from strictly professional, to one drunken hook up, to not talking about what they were doing alone every night. The few times Harry doesn’t go back to his own bed after they have sex, he sneaks out of Zoran’s before the other man awakes, when the sun is just raising over the jungle of Borneo.

While some might think that their physical closeness would have helped them in working together on their case, but Harry still feels as distant to Lazarevic as he did when he accepted the job. He still gets screamed at, still gets called an idiot – he’s not even nice when they have sex. It’s especially bad after he lets Drake escape after he found the dead crew.

Zoran orders him into his tent that night, lets him squirm and wait for what’s to come for a few minutes as he goes over their findings. By the time he turns towards Harry, Harry’s bottom lip had begun to bleed from him chewing on it.

“You only found this,” Lazarevic holds up the brown, leathery paper Harry had brought to him a few hours before, “because Drake led you right to it.”

Harry is quiet. Talking back would only worsen his case.

“Without him and your whore,” Zoran continues, and Harry can feel his stomach tighten in anger when he mentions Chloe, “you’d amount to _nothing_.”

“Without me you’d still have no clue and sit on your arse, twiddling your thumbs,” Harry sneers when he can’t take it anymore. Months of being treated badly while doing anything he wanted for the other man have built up in Harry for far too long. “Also, I don’t want you to think of me as your personal sex toy anymore. If you can’t even respect me and my work-“

Harry stops speaking when Zoran gets up from his desk, walking over to him. He makes himself as tall as possible, looking down at Zoran and, not for the first time, being glad he at least had a height advantage over him.

“Respect is a big word for you,” Lazarevic practically spits in his face. “Funny to hear it from your mouth.”

Harry flinches when Zoran pulls his gun and holds it against his forehead, the cold metal resting uncomfortably against his head. He swallows hard and closes his eyes, trying to prepare himself for what’s about to come – he’s seen Zoran kill his men in cold blood before when they had disappointed him. He doesn’t see himself as valuable enough for Lazarevic to expect a better treatment.

“Get on your knees.” Zoran draws back his gun. Harry opens his eyes again, surprised he’s still alive, but follows the orders suit. “Take off your shirt.”

Harry hesitates for just a second, before he can hear Zoran’s gun click behind him. His shirt falls next to him on the ground.

A scream escapes Harry’s mouth when he feels a knife cut into his back. He falls forward and tries to crawl away, but Lazarevic grabs his arms, holding both of his wrists behind his back with one hand. Harry cries out again when there’s another cut into him, the blade of the knife slicing through his skin and flesh like butter. He can feel blood dripping down his back, combined with a cold sweat that breaks out all over his body.

“Please,” Harry begs, his voice breaking, “please, please stop.”

“You have not learned your lesson,” Zoran says, his voice sounding awfully calm in contrast to Harry’s. He sets the knife on Harry’s back again, slitting one last time before he pushes Harry onto the ground. “Clean yourself up.”

With shaking hands, Harry grabs his shirt and stumbles out of the tent, into the improvised bathroom the soldiers had built just a few weeks before. He grabs a towel and turns his back to the mirror, examining his back, completely covered with blood. He can’t even make out the cuts, there’s so much of it. He takes a shower, the water pooling at his feet turning from a dark crimson into a pale pink by the end of it, and he carefully dabs over his back when he dries himself off, before he turns his back towards the mirror again, straining his neck as he examines the damage done to him.

A large “ **Z** ” is carved into his flesh, already dripping tiny dots of blood again, racing each other down his body. Harry gulps and turns his head away, feeling sick just looking at the wound. He’s going to have it get sawn shut, or at least let someone put a bandage over it.

 _It’ll scar as well_ , he thinks, but he shakes that thought from his mind as fast as he can. Right now, finding someone he can trust enough to not stab him with a needle is his top priority.


	7. “If we got married, would I have to take your last name? Or could we just make up a new one?"

Harry’s not sure how he ends up in Zoran’s tent every day, biting down on a pillow while getting fucked so the whole camp doesn’t have to hear him scream while Zoran has his fun with him, but he’s not about to complain. It’s mutually beneficial, really – he’s getting rid of his sexual frustration, and Zoran yells at him less often if they had sex the night before. Sex might actually save his skin for once, instead of getting him into trouble.

“If you leave, I will kill you.”

Well, except for the threats about getting tortured or straight up murdered that come from Zoran, once in a while. Their pillow talk is really the thing Harry looks forward to during the day.

“You know,” Harry says as he steals one of the pillows from under Zoran’s head, the other man glaring at him but sparing him one of the four, “if you want to marry me, just say it. No need for all the dramatic death stuff.”

“I will not tolerate one more traitor.”

“I won’t cheat on you as well,” Harry chuckles at his own joke. Zoran just glares at him.

With an eye roll Harry gets comfortable next to Zoran, making sure their bodies are touching but not in an overly ‘cuddly’ way that would be uncomfortable for both of them. He muses over his own thoughts for a while while Zoran turns off the oil lamp and covers them both with a blanket.

“If we got married, would I have to take your last name? Or could we just make up a new one?” Harry says after a while, not sure if Zoran’s even still awake. “I’m pretty fond of the sound of Flynnovic.”

“Flynnovic?” Zoran asks, his voice gruff.

“Yeah like, Flynn and Lazarevic, together.”

“I changed my mind. I will kill you no matter what.”

“Aww,” Harry coos, turning towards Zoran who’s lying on his side with his back towards Harry. He puts one hand on Zoran’s shoulder and the other on his back before kissing between his shoulder blades “I love you dearly as well.”

“You will not see the light of the day.”

“Looking forward to it,” Harry says, unimpressed, patting Zoran on the shoulder before turning his back towards him as well. “Good night, love.”


	8. “I just blew you could you look happier about it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for gun play

Harry dreads going into Lazarevic's tent that night.

Drake had wrecked havoc through the jungle, murdering any soldier in his path and messing up Zoran's notes that he had so carefully placed on the table in one of the main structures of the camp. Not to mention that Nathan had managed to escape alive, with the dagger, and was probably already on his way to Nepal.

Harry sighs. He could just go into his own tent, go out of Lazarevic's way for as long as possible, but he'd rather get it over with now than when Zoran decides it's time. He'll take his lumps, get on his knees or bend over and take what's coming, and they'll forget about it in a few days, go back to normal. Yes, that sounds perfect.

Lazarevic is sitting on his bed, polishing his hand gun, and he looks up as Harry steps inside.

“I have nothing to say to you,” Zoran says before looking back at the gun in his hand. Harry wrings his hands, drying cold sweat off them on his jeans before walking over to Zoran, putting one hand on his shoulder. If looks could kill, Harry would fall over on the spot. He calls himself lucky that he gets onto the ground on his own accord, his knees hitting the dirt ground and aching immediately. “What do you think you're doing?”

“I'm apologizing,” Harry explains letting his hands run over Zoran's thighs, hard and firm beneath the material of his trousers. “I should have taken care of Drake. Brought him to you myself.”

“You should have found what he found months ago.”

“That too,” Harry admits, “I wasn't doing my job properly.” It pains him to depreciate himself, humiliate himself to make Zoran happy.

“I am paying you, every day you spend here, useless.”

“I know.”

“You know nothing, that is exactly the problem.”

Zoran's hand comes to rest on Harry's throat, squeezing tightly and making him look up at Zoran. He feels the cold press of the gun against his temple, and he closes his eyes, preparing for the worst. It could end, right here, right now, and Harry has no other choice than to let fate take its turn. Zoran moves the gun from his temple to his lips, and Harry hesitantly opens his mouth, taking the barrel of the gun between his lips.

“Tell me one good reason why I should not kill you.”

Harry knows Lazarevic isn't expecting an answer, or he would take the gun from between Harry's lips. He just wants to humiliate Harry by not being able to defend himself, the taste of metal on his tongue as Zoran presses the gun deeper inside. When Zoran cocks his head Harry starts opening the belt of his trousers, opening the buttons and pulling down the zipper until he can push the fabric down far enough to take out Zoran's cock, half hard and thick in his hands. It's not the first he's done this, get on Zoran's good side again by blowing him – he just wished the momentary truce that lingers between them after each time would last longer.

Harry gags as Zoran grabs his hair and shoves the gun deeper in his mouth, touching the back of Harry's throat, but he can't move away.

“You better make this worth my time.”

Harry nods, a tear escaping his eyes from retching. He gasps for air when Zoran takes the gun out of his mouth, before his face gets roughly shoved into Zoran's crotch, the gun back on Harry's temple. Harry quickly takes the head of Zoran's cock in his mouth, sucking softly and stroking his cock with his right hand. It's a bit dry, and Harry wants to move away so he can spit in his hands, make it better for Zoran, but the hand that's not holding a gun to his head grabs his neck and keeps him from moving.

Harry flinches when he feels Zoran spit on his face.

“This will do,” he says, and Harry can almost hear the glee in his voice. The sick bastard is enjoying this.

Harry bravely reaches up to where Zoran's saliva is cooling on his cheek, wiping it off his face and then onto Zoran's cock, wrapping his hand around it again. His fingers barely reach around now that he's fully hard.

The gun against his temple presses harder and the fingers in his neck tighten when Harry takes too long teasing the tip of Zoran's dick, letting his tongue lick over the slit and around the head before letting Zoran slip deeper inside. He's moving his head carefully, not wanting to jostle the gun and accidentally kill himself. He's not sure if the safety is off or not, if Zoran just wants to scare him or if he would actually pull the trigger if Harry didn't perform to satisfaction, but he's not keen on figuring out the answer.

He's too scared that it would be the latter.

“This is what you should be paid for,” Zoran grunts after a while, “not for wasting my time, not finding even one clue.”

Harry almost rolls his eyes, but thinks better of it before he can actually do it. No good testing out Zoran's patience while Harry is already in a vulnerable position.

Zoran gets up after Harry bobs his head a few more times, momentarily pushing his cock so far down Harry's throat he starts gagging again. Harry steadies himself with his hands against Zoran's muscular thighs when Zoran begins thrusting into his mouth, hard and unforgiving, keeping Harry's head in an iron grip until Harry can feel his mouth filling up with come, the only noise escaping Zoran that indicates an orgasm a soft grunt. Harry tries his best to swallow around Zoran's cock, but he can't, come dribbling out the corners of his lips and onto his chin, dripping on the ground between them. Harry hopes Zoran won't make him lean down and lick it off the ground.

“I just blew you could you look happier about it?” Harry can't help himself asking after Zoran pulls his cock out of his mouth, still resting against Harry's lips. The man's face is stoic as ever, and rage grows inside Harry's chest at the fact that nothing seems to make the other man happy – and he needs Zoran happy, to stay in his good graces.

“Get out,” Zoran says as he pulls back, rubbing his cock over Harry's lips a few times before stepping away. Harry hurriedly swallows and wipes the rest of the come off the lower half of his face before getting up, practically sprinting out of the tent. His face heats up when he sees a group of soldiers sitting not far away from Zoran's tent – he's sure they didn't notice anything, but even if they had, they would never mention anything when around their boss, or Harry.

He guesses screwing the boss gives him some privileges.


	9. WW2 AU

Harry takes a drag of his cigarette as he takes in the scene in front of him - destroyed buildings, burning trash and rubble, and men and women rummaging through the streets in hopes of finding things they had lost during the bombing. Belgrade had seen better days. 

“So this is what happens if you’re not pals with Germany,” he says as he blows the smoke out of his mouth, turning to the general next to him. Zoran Lazarevic, one of the big guys in the Yugoslavian army, he had heard from his superior. A big, burly man with burn scars littering half of his body. Harry wonders if he got them during Operation Retribution.

“We will not surrender against the Germans,” Lazarevic says, vitriol and pride in his voice. Harry almost laughs. The measly Yugoslavian army had no chance against the superpower that is knocking on the walls of their city, and even with the help of the British they couldn’t hold out longer than maybe a few months.

“We’ll see,” Harry sighs, passing the cigarette back to Lazarevic. “Now, where can I get decent food around here?”


	10. Beauty and the Beast AU

The scars on Lazarevic’s body are gone, and Harry asks himself how Zoran looked like when he was young. He was in the army, that’s all Harry knows about the other man - no real surprise there, he had to get his combat training somewhere before managing his own troop. There’s only so much one can learn reading books, Harry knows all too well. 

“Quite the transformation,” Harry remarks, pointing at where the scars used to be. “Turned from the beast into the beauty not by true love but by magical blue tree sap.”

“I don’t think that is how the story goes,” Zoran answers, “for one, the beast and the beauty are not the same person.”

“Ah, yeah. Does that mean I’m the beauty in this scenario?”

Lazarevic rolls his eyes, and Harry can almost see the regret of not killing Harry while he had the chance, before they both had a taste of Shambhala’s true treasure. 

Eternal youth doesn’t sound too bad, Harry decides. Now, he just has to find out how long he can annoy Zoran before they part ways.


	11. School AU

Harry can’t keep his eyes off the new exchange student. His shaved head stands out from the other boy’s neatly styled hair, and he looks out of place in the school uniform they all have to wear. He’s from Yugoslavia, he’s heard through the grape vine - he hasn’t had the chance to speak to him personally yet.

“Stop staring at the new guy, you fucking fairy,” Charlie laughs, hitting Harry’s arm. “Do you have a crush on him, or what?”

“Sod off, Cutter,” Harry replies, kicking his best friend, trying to get his trousers dirty so he’ll get a scolding from his teacher later. “One word more and we’ll take this outside.”

“Oh, are you gonna send your Eastern European boyfriend to beat me up? I’m pissing myself.”

Harry rolls his eyes and looks back to where the exchange student had stood before, but he disappeared. His heart drops a little, and he internally curses Cutter for distracting him.

Another time, then.


	12. Royalty AU

King Lazarevic is a ruthless man, Harry knows. He knew even before he saw the king himself stab his right hand man when it came out that he had been the one telling the enemy about their military plans. Blood had pooled on the marble floor of the throne room, and Harry’s stomach had turned when King Lazarevic had sliced even more until the man was disemboweled. 

“This is what happens to traitors!” Lazarevic bellows, his voice echoing off the walls of the room. “Do not cross me!”

He turns to Harry, sent by his King to establish peace with Lazarevic’s kingdom. “And you,” three steps and Harry is pressed against the wall, his feet off the floor as Lazarevic holds him by the collar of his shirt. “You better tell your king what I did before the same thing happens to him.”

“Of course, your highness,” Harry presses out, nodding. “We want nothing but peaceful trade.”

Zoran lets him drop back on the floor before storming out of the throne room, Harry’s knees giving out, and he drops on the ground. 

What a fucking shitty job he had taken there.


	13. Deity AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chloe/Zoran/Harry

Harry doesn’t know when he found himself in the bed of two gods, when they had decided that he, a mere mortal, would fit in perfectly between them. 

To his left, the goddess of beauty and pleasure, her black hair so smooth Harry could play with it all day. Her body is sinful, and Harry knows why she is worshiped, why the mortal women all try to look like her by means of makeup and dress. Nobody could ever come close to her beauty, the curves of her body, and the way she moves when she sits on Harry’s lap.

To his right, the god of war, the strongest of all the gods, the tales of his successes known far and wide beyond the borders of their country. Harry has never seen a more powerful man in his life, and Harry has to keep himself from flattering him, trying to win him over any time he sees him.

He already won them over. Zoran is stroking over his back while Harry kisses Chloe’s perfect breasts, sucking on her nipple until she spreads her legs for him again. 

He might be a mortal, but he’s the luckiest son of a bitch in the world.


	14. Ničija Zemlja

The end of an era, some news sources said. Harry had laughed at that. Yugoslavia might have lost Slovenia and Croatia, but the fighting in Bosnia had lasted long enough that Harry still had faith that Serbia could turn it around, keep their country together by force. But as a reporter he had to stay out of it, couldn’t put his opinions in the reports and could only talk about the cold hard facts.

One of these facts was Zoran Lazarevic, formerly of the Yugoslavian army, now on his own, working for… someone. Harry guesses he got his orders from high up, did the dirty work for the men in power that didn’t want the scandal of war crimes on their shoulders.

“There he is, the most wanted man in the world,” Harry mutters to himself as he peers through his binoculars, following Lazarevic’s every move as he commands his squad. “Can’t wait to meet you myself, love.”


	15. Little Mermaid AU

Captain Flynn was a pirate of his own right. He doesn’t have a lot of friends, could barely name anyone who would die for him in battle, someone who wouldn’t sell him out for a quick buck or the evade a prison sentence. But he loves this life. Loves plundering and murdering, commanding his own ship without having to serve under someone else.

But when he’s not busy, he loves coming to the secluded strip of beach near his house on an island off the coast of Madagascar, because he knows there is the one person he can trust to not screw him over completely.

“Oi, Zoran,” Harry greets when he sees the merman lounge on one of the rocks, reveling in the sun and the seclusion Harry’s stay on the island had granted him. “Be careful or you’ll be someone’s dinner tonight. Who knows, maybe I’ll be the one to eat you.”

“I’d drown you before you have the chance, Flynn,” Zoran counters, slipping back into the water as Harry comes near. 

“What? Don’t you trust me?” Harry grips over his heart in a fake expression of hurt. 

“Only from a distance.”

“Well, love, it’s time to stop this _distance_ thing. We’ve known each other for long enough, and I haven’t sold you out yet, right?”

Zoran grumbles but doesn’t swim away as Harry slowly undresses, getting in the water with him. He guesses the man is as trustworthy as a pirate comes, and it’s good to have contact with someone outside of his community.

So he won’t drown him. At least not yet.


	16. “Yes, you are a paragon of mental health."

Harry doesn’t know how they got on the topic - he’d been shot, a bit shaken up by the blood pooling out of his shoulder, he admits. The paleness of his ksin was no only from pain, but also the shock of what happened - he’s known he could get shot easily in his line of work, but never had considered it an _actual_ possibility. 

“Mental issues require as much care as bullet wounds,” Zoran says, his voice neutral, as ever when the issues of Harry’s shock comes up when they’re having a drink together, later that night. It suddenly dawns on Harry that they’re only sitting together like this because Zoran thinks Harry needs to _talk_ about it.

“I don’t have mental issues.” Harry almost laughs at the idea of him having any kind of issues that require something like _therapy_. He’s never felt the need to see a psychiatrist, to talk about how he’s _fucking feeling._

“Of course.”

“How would you diagnose me, doctor Zoran?” Harry cackles, sipping his beer, genuinely curious of what the other man thinks about him.

“Slight sociopathy. Definitely some narcissistic traits.” Zoran asks, raising his eyebrows at Harry. “Did I miss something?”

“Yes, you are a paragon of mental health yourself,” Harry replies, trying to play off Zoran’s comment in a casual manner. He doesn’t want to show that it actually hit him.

“Or it’s all just a facade. Trying to seem like nothing gets to you.”

“Look who’s talking, Mr. No Emotions,” Harry says, definitely bitter this time, he can’t hide it anymore. He hates it when people look straight through him, and Zoran had the ability to cut through his bullshit right away, hit where it hurt most.

“Well, I’m done here,” Harry spits out as he puts away his beer and gets up.

“Running away from confrontation,” Zoran continues, but Harry stomps out of the room and slams the door shut before he can hear even more. 

God. What an _asshole._


	17. “You’ve never loved anyone. You’re not even capable of it.”

There are bruises on Harry’s skin, dark purple ones next to the ones that have already faded to a sickly yellow over time. They’re in the shape of Zoran’s fingers and all over his body, most of them focused on his hips and waist, some on his throat, a few sparse one’s on his back - he’s seen them in the mirror before taking a shower.

Zoran’s quiet next to him, but Harry knows he’s not asleep. He always sleeps on his side, and right now he’s still on his back, probably staring at the same spot in the ceiling that Harry is squinting at. In the dark he can’t decide if it’s some sort of squished bug or a burn mark.

“It wasn’t fair,” Harry breaches the subject he’s been thinking about all day. “It wasn’t fair that you left me behind to kill Drake. You could have done it yourself.”

“And lose a chance to test your loyalty?” Zoran pauses. Harry wonders why he’s still alive - Zoran knows Nathan and he used to be friends, and Harry had failed to kill him, again and again. He’s sure he’s failed the loyalty test by now. 

“It’s still not fair. Just do it yourself.”

“What is this talk about fairness?” Zoran asks, and Harry can hear the anger and confusion in his voice. “I employed you for a reason. You were the one dragging Drake into it all. You take him out.”

Harry is quiet for a while, pondering Zoran’s words. He’s right of course, but there was no other way to get the oil lamp out of the museum; he had needed Nathan. He just wishes he’d stayed in prison until this all blew over.

“Guess it goes back to that old saying of everything is fair in love and war,” Harry begins, “but you’ve never loved anyone. You’re not even capable of it.”

His fingers feeling over one of the most tender bruises on his hip, the one his pants press against every day, reminding him of its existence. There was never a gentle moment in bed with Zoran; only rough hands and hard shoves, legs that could pin Harry down without him being able to fight against them.

“I guess it’s all war to you,” Harry sighs and turns onto his side, pressing his eyes closed and hoping sleep would come soon. Restless, dreamless sleep, without any nightmares about seeing Nathan bleed out on the floor by his own hands.

But he knows it futile.


End file.
